


Shower Shenanigans

by the_random_writer



Series: Separated Twins [9]
Category: Bourne (Movies), RED (Movies), The Bourne Supremacy (2004)
Genre: Arguing, Brothers, Crack, Crossover, Eavesdropping, Gen, Hangover, Shower Sex, Teasing, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-31 23:36:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10909764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_random_writer/pseuds/the_random_writer
Summary: A crossover where William Cooper from 'RED' and Kirill from 'The Bourne Supremacy' are identical twins.Born in Berlin to an American mother and a Russian father, the twins were separated at the age of ten by their parents' divorce. William went to the United States with their mother, while Kirill went to the Soviet Union with their father.It's the morning after a boozy dinner at the Cooper house. Kirill is doing Something Naughty in the basement. William is hungover, and Not Amused.Takes place in early September 2010.





	Shower Shenanigans

William rubbed his unhappy stomach and suppressed the urge to let out a groan. In hindsight, that second, enormous piece of cake might have been a bad idea. Especially on top of a Caesar Salad, a large slice of garlic bread, a bowl of Spaghetti Carbonara, a glass of _tranquillo_ Prosecco, two bottles of Nastro Azzurro and several, very generous shots of twenty-year-old Edradour.

But the cake—a veritable masterpiece of three sugary, scrumptious, chocolate-packed layers—had been the highly calorific jewel in his wife's culinary crown. It had taken her almost a day to make the damn thing, so he'd felt duty-bound to eat at least a couple of slices, as any loving, appreciative husband would.

Besides, maybe it wasn't the chocolate cake causing his intestinal grief. Maybe it was the Edradour. Yeah, he could totally go with that. Blame the Scots and their single malts instead of his amazing spouse. His twin had drunk even more of the amber liquid than him, which might explain why he was nowhere to be seen, even though it was coming up on eleven o'clock. For Kirill—a man who was usually up with the birds at the crack of dawn—that was the equivalent of sleeping into the afternoon.

Then again, there seemed to be a lot of that going around today. His sister-in-law, Catherine, who'd opted to crash on the futon in the playroom upstairs instead of calling for a cab was also still down for the count. But Catherine was much more like him than like Kirill when it came to her morning routine, so the fact she hadn't as yet emerged was hardly an enormous surprise. She would surface in her own good time, no doubt feeling slightly hungover, with a stomach as unhappy as his, crying for a large cup of tea. 

Hmm.

Maybe that was all Kirill needed as well—a good, strong cup of joe to clear away the wool in his head and set him on his path for the day. He could totally help with that. What were older, twin brothers for?

He pulled a mug from the overhead cupboard, set it down on the counter with a thunk, grabbed the pot of freshly-brewed coffee and filled the capacious container to a centimetre below the brim. With the mug clutched in his right hand, he sauntered out of the sunny kitchen and down the flight of carpeted stairs into the spacious basement suite, which was currently serving as Kirill's home.

Not for much longer, though. After a wait of seven months, the CIA's lawyers had finally decided to allow Kirill to stay in the States instead of sending him back to Russia, where he would almost certainly face a grisly fate at the hands of the FSB. As well as a passport and a Social Security Number, the Company had given his younger brother a job, which he'd now been working in for almost two months. It didn't pay much, but it paid enough to cover a single man's basic needs, including the rent on a modern, furnished, one-bedroom apartment in the next suburb over. Kirill had already signed the lease (with William as his guarantor) and was due to move in at the end of the week. The difficult rehab work was done—it was time to release the _orlenok_ back into the wild.

In her wisdom, Michelle had decided that such an auspicious event should be marked with some kind of celebration. She'd originally planned to invite over a handful of relations and friends, but Kirill had politely persuaded her to keep it as a low-key affair. That was something William had understood. He wasn't always particularly good at socializing and small-talk himself, and he was the one who'd grown up in this world. For a foreigner like his Russian twin, an evening of middle-class, American chatter would have been verging on a visit to hell.

There was also the small problem of work. Since being promoted to Section Chief, William usually couldn't say for sure if he would have the whole weekend off until early on Friday afternoon, which wasn't exactly conducive to organizing social events.

In the end, they'd whittled the guest list down to four—Michelle, William, Kirill and Kate. The younger McNally sister had recently broken up with Steve—her lecturer boyfriend of almost two years—under rather calamitous circumstances involving one of Steve's graduate students. She was in serious need of a fun night out, and had therefore been more than happy to make the numbers up to an even four.

It was interesting, really, how well she and Kirill had clicked by the end of the night, even though they'd only met a couple of times before. William honestly wouldn't have thought each of them was the other's type. Not that he really knew what his twin brother's type was. Or Catherine's, for that matter. Her patchy romantic history included everything from a high school biology teacher to a man who made replica armour and swords. Kirill and Kate were probably just being polite, making an effort to get along for the sake of their older brother and sister, with a steady stream of alcohol and delicious food to grease the collective wheels.

As he approached the bedroom door, he heard water running somewhere inside. So Kirill was up and moving around, maybe having an ice-cold shower to blast the remainder of his hangover way. William shuddered slightly. He would rather have his toenails pulled out than stand under a high-pressure stream of freezing cold water. He preferred to cure his hangovers the slow and old-fashioned way, with painkillers, a bacon sandwich and as much coffee as a man could ingest without triggering a heart attack or ripping a hole in the fabric of space.

He reached for the handle of the door, intending to slip inside and set the coffee down on the desk, when a noise from the bathroom made his blood run absolutely, _totally_ cold.

A woman squealed, then let out a thoroughly indecent moan.

In his slightly hungover state, it took him a couple of seconds to parse what he'd just heard. Michelle was long since up and out, taking the kids and two of their friends to their Sunday morning swimming lessons, so there was only one woman in the house right now, and that was Kate.

The noise could only mean one thing. Unless Kirill had somehow snuck another woman into the house while everyone was looking the other way (which William thought extremely unlikely), his brother and his wife's younger sister were taking a shower together. And based on the noises now coming from the room, they weren't doing it to save on water, or so they could scrub each other's backs.

Sweet baby Jesus.

Kirill and Kate were _fucking_.

In the shower, in the bathroom, in the basement of his house.

He didn't mean to stand there for the next couple of minutes, his mouth hanging slightly open, his eyebrows climbing towards his hair, listening to the sexual shenanigans taking place at the other side of the wall. It just sort of happened that way. And to be fair, the sexual shenanigans in question sounded extremely impressive. He was trying to decide if he wanted to describe them as 'vigorous', 'athletic' or 'enthusiastic' when Kirill started to talk. In English at first, but then in Russian. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your point of view), William spoke their father's language almost as well as his twin, so understood _exactly_ what Kirill was saying.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Before, he'd only been in a state of utterly dumbfounded shock. Now, his ears and every single cell in his brain—the few he'd managed not to kill with sugar and booze the night before—were practically burning in shame. He'd been a marine, so he'd heard a lot of vulgar things in his life, but until today, he'd never heard anything as vulgar as _this_. He couldn't imagine ever saying stuff like that to Michelle. He wasn't a prude by any means, and he liked to keep things interesting between the sheets, but Kirill's utterings weren't just interesting, they were pure, unadulterated filth.

It was probably a good thing his wife's younger sister didn't know a word of Russian. Then again, she'd always had a much riskier and more permissive approach to life than her sensible older sibling, so perhaps pure, unadulterated filth was exactly what she wanted to hear.

Jesus. What in the seven hells was he doing, standing here in the basement hall, listening to his brother and his wife's younger sister having vigorously filthy sex? How low could one man sink?

Trembling slightly, he turned and fled back the way he'd come, the cup of now cooling coffee still gripped in his right hand. He paused at the top of the stairs, took a gulp to calm his nerves, and seriously considered topping it up with a shot of Jim, the time of day and his grumbly stomach be damned. The Marine Corps and the CIA had both trained him very well, but neither organization had ever taught him how to deal with something as disturbing as _this_.

His blood ran even colder again at the sound of someone at the door. It must be Michelle, back from her Sunday morning turn as Andrew and Tatiana's chauffeur.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

How the hell was he going to tell her what was going on downstairs?

Never mind how. _Should_ he even tell her, was the more important question. After all, their siblings were both unattached, and both rational, consenting adults. Okay, _reasonably_ rational in Kirill's case, but that wasn't the point. It was really none of his or Mike's business what two people did to each other in the privacy of a locked room, even if the locked room in question was in the basement of their house.

Right?

He met his other half in the kitchen.

Her face blossomed into a smile, then almost immediately dropped into a worried frown. "What the hell's wrong?" she demanded to know.

Christ. Was is _that_ obvious?

"Nothing's wrong," he told her, smiling back, trying to look and sound completely and totally calm.

She narrowed her eyes. "Then why do you have a look on your face like I just came home at the worst possible time?"

God damn it. He loved his wife very much, but why did she always have to be so attentive and on the ball? Just this once, couldn't she conveniently look the other way?

"It's nothing, honestly. I'm just not feeling very good," he lied.

Still frowning, she wandered past him into the family room at the rear of the house, perhaps looking for evidence that the other two adults under the roof had managed to get out of bed. "Kirill's not up yet?" she asked, looking and sounding slightly concerned. She knew as well as anyone how much of an early riser the younger Orlov brother was.

In William's defense, he _did_ spend at least six seconds trying to think up a convincing excuse, until his complete and utter lack of fucks got very firmly in the way. _I'm too hungover for this crap_ , he reminded himself. _Kirill can come up with his own goddamn cover story_.

"Oh, he's up all right," William tartly revealed. "Just not where or how you want."

"The hell are you talking about?"

"He's in the shower."

"What's strange about that?"

"Absolutely nothing, but so is Kate."

Michelle's face brightened. "Oh, so she's awake as well, then? Good. She said she would give me a hand to sort the leftovers into lunches for you and the kids."

"Together."

"Why would I put all the lunches together?"

"I mean Kirill and Kate."

"What about them?"

"They're in the walk-in shower downstairs," William thundered. " _Together_."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"You're telling me that _your_ twin brother and _my_ baby sister are taking a shower together?"

William nodded. "In fact, I'd go so far as to say they're showering each other's brains out."

"They're _having sex_?"

Another nod. "Vigorously. Enthusiastically. Noisily. _Filthily_. With a running commentary in English and Russian."

It was like watching someone go through the five stages of grief in the space of ten to fifteen seconds. A moment of denial first, then a flash of anger, a hint of bargaining, a touch of depression, then surprisingly, amused resignation and acquiescence.

Michelle let out an astonished laugh, then clamped a hand across her mouth.

William glared at his other half. "Well, I'm glad you think it's funny," he indignantly said, "because when I realized what was going on, I just about had a goddamn stroke." He gulped another mouthful of coffee, then asked, "What the hell are we gonna do?"

"Why do we have to do anything?"

"Because they're having sex in our house!"

"Yeah? So what?"

"What the hell do you mean _so what_?"

"Oh, for God's sake, Will, they're both adults, and the kids are out. Why the hell are you so upset?"

"They're both adults, and they can have as much sex as they want," William retorted, feeling his head beginning to pound. "I just want them to have it somewhere else."

"C'mon, hon. Kirill hasn't exactly had the best of years, and Kate needs some cheering up after everything that just happened with Steve. Bit of filthy shower sex'll do both of them the world of good."

"How can you be so calm?"

"How can you not?" Michelle protested. "You were in the Marines for eight years, and now you work for the CIA. It's not like you went downstairs and found Kirill trying to get rid of a corpse."

"Think I'd rather deal with a dead body than listen to my brother and sister-in-law fucking each other in the shower."

"Can you hear them fucking each other in the shower from here?"

"Of course not!"

"Then what's the problem?"

"Does this mean we're not confronting them about it?"

"What good would that do?"

"For a start, it would make me feel a _lot_ better about the situation."

A smile spread across Michelle's lips. "William Alexander Cooper, are you _jealous_?" she asked in a teasing tone.

"Why the hell would I be jealous?"

"Well, when did _we_ last have sex in the shower?" she asked. "Vigorous or otherwise?"

"Oh, so now I'm not good enough in bed?"

She threw up her hands in spousal surrender and headed back into the kitchen, slipping out of her coat as she moved. "I'm gonna go finish putting the dishes away. You can stay here, be all irrational and crabby."

"I am _not_ irrational and crabby," he said crabbily.

"Not listening," she sing-songed back.

"I'm hungover, dammit!" He groaned as his stomach lurched again.

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you opened the Edradour."

"That was Kirill's idea!"

"I don't recall you putting up much of a fight."

"I didn't, but that's not the point."

"Whatever you say, hon. You're the boss."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Sure. Just let me go find my 'give a shit' pen."

William jumped and whirled as someone quietly cleared their throat. And there was Kirill, strolling around the back of the couch, barefoot but otherwise fully dressed, his hair still mussed and slightly damp.

God fucking damn it. What kind of CIA agent was he that someone could make it all the way up a flight of stairs and halfway into the goddamn room before he realized they were even there? It didn't help that his younger brother was practically a goddamn ghost. He'd never met anyone who could do so much without making a single sound. _Except when he's fucking my sister-in-law in the shower_. _Because he sure as shit makes a lot of noise, then_. A fact he could happily have lived the rest of his life without ever finding out.

"Good morning," Kirill politely declared. "Is there any more of that?" he asked, pointing at William's now half-empty cup.

"Morning," William muttered by way of reply. "Plenty more in the pot. Help yourself."

Kirill nodded and strolled away. William heard his brother bid good morning to Michelle, thank her for doing such an amazing job with the meal the night before, then offer to pour them both a cup of coffee. Curiously, his younger sibling made no mention whatsoever of the morning's other events. William couldn't for the life of him begin to imagine why.

Huffing quietly, he followed on his brother's heels. For a few moments, the three of them stood around the island, silently giving each other deceptively innocent looks.

Catherine came in the patio door, her long, tawny hair tied up in a bun, still wearing the skinny jeans and loose, cotton blouse she'd arrived in the day before.

"Morning, dear," Michelle said, turning to put the kettle on. "You been out to get some fresh air?" she asked, knowing as well as her husband did that Kate had simply come up from the basement via the garden instead of the stairs. Like that would fool anyone with half a brain, much less a lawyer and a former marine.

Catherine nodded and smiled. "Needed to clear out the cobwebs in my head," she explained, going to the pantry to find the box of chamomile tea. "Drank _way_ too much last night."

"You're not the only one," William put in. "I feel like someone's taking a hammer to the side of my skull. And don't even _ask_ me what my stomach's doing."

"I feel fine," Kirill announced, slightly too smugly for his brother's liking.

William rolled his eyes. But of _course_ he did. Even if he had woken up with a hangover and upset stomach from hell, he'd literally just fucked and washed the discomfort away. Lucky bastard. Michelle was right in that regard. When _had_ the two of them last had sex in the shower? Or, for that matter, somewhere more interesting than a bed?

"Did you sleep okay on the rollout?" Michelle said to her younger sister.

Catherine nodded again. "Like a baby."

William snorted into his cup. He wondered how much use the rollout futon had actually seen. He and Mike had gone to bed first, just after eleven o'clock, so for all they knew, Kate could have been with Kirill all night. That would certainly explain why she was wearing her regular clothes, instead of the loaner pair of pajamas her sister had left in the playroom for her.

"Did you say something, dear?" Michelle enquired.

"Who, me?" was William's slightly too snippy reply.

Kirill gave him a funny look. "Viko, are you still drunk?"

"Course not. Why the hell would you ask me that?"

"You are behaving very strangely this morning."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Can't think why."

The kettle boiled; Catherine filled her mug and waited for her tea to brew. She looked around the kitchen and frowned. "Where are the kids?" she asked.

"Swimming lessons," Michelle explained. "I drove them all in. Tracy next door'll bring them all back when they're done."

"Will they be home before I have to leave?"

"Should be, yeah. But I thought you were going to stay on for lunch?"

"I was, but then I remembered I have a training course tomorrow morning I really need to prepare for, plus a mountain of laundry I've been ignoring for the last couple of weeks."

Kirill waved a dismissive hand. "Training courses and laundry can wait. You should stay on for lunch."

William snorted again. But of _course_ she should. The longer she stayed, the better the chance of another round of Hide the Sausage. Or maybe given their heritage, it would be a round of Hide the Kolbasa…

Kirill set his mug on the counter and gave his brother a withering glare. "Viko, what is wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Then why are you acting like a bear with a sore head?"

"I'm hungover," he said defensively, suddenly wishing he could go back to bed.

Like Michelle, Kirill wasn't easily soothed. "There is more to it than that," the younger twin complained. "You are sulking, and I do not like it when people sulk."

"And God forbid I _ever_ do something my baby brother doesn't like."

"You're right," Catherine interjected. "It's not just the hangover. He _is_ sulking."

Kirill grinned and swirled his coffee around in his cup. "He used to do it all the time as a child, and it was just as annoying then as it is now. I was never strong enough to beat it out of him, so I took the psychological approach instead and simply laughed at him until he cried."

Right. That was _it_.

"Okay, _bratishka_ , you really want to know why I'm in such a shitty mood?" William demanded of his twin.

"Yes, _brat_ , I do."

"How about the fact the two of you," he said, pointing to Catherine then to Kirill, "just spent the last thirty minutes boning each other's brains out in our basement shower?"

"Jesus, Will," Michelle muttered, gently rubbing the bridge of her nose.

Kirill nodded sagely. "And the thought of us having sex disturbs you."

"Course it disturbs me!" William shot back. "Catherine's my sister-in-law, and you're my identical twin, which means at the genetic level, you're basically me. My life's complicated enough as it is right now without the two of you adding some biblical-level incest bullshit into the mix for good measure."

"But we are both adults, and we both gave consent. And we are not related by blood, so I cannot see how it would be incest, biblical or otherwise. And neither of us is married to or romantically involved with another person, so what is the problem?"

"I don't know. It's just _wrong_."

"Wrong doesn't even _begin_ to describe what the two of us just did," Catherine murmured into her tea.

Kirill smirked and gave her an approving wink.

"That's really not helping," William said to the younger woman.

Catherine grinned. "What makes you think I was trying to help?"

Jesus, the two of them were as bad as each other. Why did he suddenly feel like the only responsible adult in the room? Maybe he'd judged the previous evening's camaraderie all wrong. Maybe there was something to this after all, and Kirill and Catherine were _precisely_ each other's type.

"Does it bother you?" Kirill said to Michelle.

Michelle gave a nonchalant shrug. "As long as you're not accidentally making babies, not really, no."

William groaned. "Please tell me at least one of you kept that in mind?" Not that he and Mike really had any right to complain, since Andrew's arrival hadn't exactly been planned.

Kirill went completely still—it obviously hadn't occurred to him.

Catherine sighed and rolled her eyes. "Relax, we're fine."

The older McNally wasn't done yet. "But Kirill, just so you know, even if you're not accidentally making babies, our mom and dad will want to know when the two of you are getting married."

Catherine almost choked on her tea.

"What?" Kirill asked in a hesitant voice.

Our parents are very strict Catholics, Kir," Michelle explained in a solemn tone. "They don't approve of sex before marriage, so if you bed, you better be ready and willing to wed. Didn't Catherine tell you that was part of the deal?"

A look of panic and disbelief settled across the Russian's face. He turned to his twin, silently pleading for help.

"Don't look at me, man," William replied, happy to run with his wife's charade. "Why do you think I proposed to Mike on our seventh date?"

Kirill looked from William to Michelle, then from Michelle to her younger sister, then from Catherine back to his older brother.

For the briefest of moments, William thought his stoic, battle-hardened sibling was actually going to cry.

It was Catherine who cracked first. "Oh, God, the _look_ on your face!" she exclaimed, slapping a hand on the counter and laughing like a hyena on crack.

Kirill gave her dagger eyes. "You are a very wicked woman," he said.

"You bet your pert, Russian ass I am," she drawled back, chuckling again. "And correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't remember you complaining about it an hour ago."

Kirill huffed and turned to his twin. "Do you feel better now?"

William nodded. "Much."

"So you and Michelle will not object if Katenka and I want to see each other again?"

William felt his eyebrows climb. A morning (and night?) of vigorous sex and Kirill had already given Kate an affectionate, diminutive name? Had she given him one of her own in return?

"As long as the two of you don't _see_ each other in my house, then no, I don't," he replied.

"Not even if we wash all the bedding and polish the hardwood floor when we're done?" Catherine asked with another grin.

"Not even if you clean the house from top to bottom, wash the cars, walk the dog, mow the lawn, do the recycling and take out the trash."

Michelle snorted. "They do all that, they can use the house however and whenever they damn well want."

"No, honey, they can't," William objected, giving his wife another glare.

"So when _are_ you going to mow the lawn, then?" the wife in question wanted to know. "You haven't done it now for almost a month, and it's starting to look a little neglected."

Kirill scrunched his face. "Is that a sex thing?"

"Is what a sex thing?"

"Mowing the lawn," he explained. "It sounds like a sex thing."

Michelle smiled. "No, Kirill, it's not a sex thing."

"So you are simply asking Viko when he is _actually_ going to mow the lawn?"

"Yes."

"You are not complaining about a lack of sex?"

"No."

"I would be more than happy to help," Kirill offered. "With mowing the lawn, that is," he hastily added. "Not with the lack of sex. Even if that was a problem. Which apparently it is not."

"Kir?" William very calmly said.

"Yes?"

"I know you're not the world's most talkative person, so it's probably not completely fair to say this, but right now, could you _please_ just shut the fuck up?"

Kirill blushed and turned his attention back to his suddenly fascinating mug.

Catherine grinned, finished her tea, then gently rubbed her temples and groaned.

"You still hurting?" Michelle asked.

The younger woman nodded. "Took a couple of Tylenol when I woke up, but I was thinking I might go out for a walk, see if some exercise and fresh air'll help."

"Boomer hasn't been out yet this morning," William advised, nodding at the chocolate lab sprawled across the living room rug. "You could always take him down to the dog park next to the river, throw one of his frisbees around."

"I could go with you," Kirill proposed. "I would also like to get some fresh air, and throwing a frisbee around will be good for my arm."

"Sure, let's do that," Catherine agreed. "Give the old, married couple here an hour or so of complete peace and quiet. Just let me go find my shoes and my coat."

Kirill nodded. "I will go find mine as well. And also a pair of socks."

Ten minutes later, Catherine, Kirill and Boomer were gone, a dog leash and frisbee firmly in hand, and the old, married couple in question had the premises to themselves.

William yawned and rubbed his face.

"You been for your shower yet?" Michelle asked as she placed their empty mugs in the sink.

He shook his head. "You know me. Needed my two cups of coffee first."

"Why don't you go wash up, and I'll deal with the rest of this?" she offered, nodding at the glasses and plates they hadn't had the energy or inclination to tidy away the night before.

Smiling softly, he leaned in to give her a gentle kiss. "Have I ever told you what an amazing, wonderful woman you are?" he murmured.

"You might have mentioned it once or twice," she murmured back. "But feel free to tell me again however, whenever and wherever you want."

As he sauntered towards the stairs, he suddenly had an interesting thought. This was _his_ house, not his brother's. So why should Kirill and Catherine have all the mischievous fun? Surely he and his beautiful wife could play some naughty games of their own?

He paused, turned back to his other half and said, "You made a very good point earlier, you know."

Michelle gave him a quizzical look. "About what?"

"It _has_ been a long time since we last did anything in the shower," he explained. "And certainly not since we finished renovating the master bath."

"Yeah?" she said, her mouth curling into a grin.

"The kids are out, and Kirill and Kate'll be gone for at least an hour."

"So?"

"So if I'm going for a nice, relaxing rinse, why don't you come along for the ride?"

 


End file.
